


Unleash A Million Drones

by ass_sass_sin_o



Series: The Simulation Saga [2]
Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Belldom - Freeform, M/M, drones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:41:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24354493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ass_sass_sin_o/pseuds/ass_sass_sin_o
Summary: In the months since Matt has returned to the real world, his life has returned to normal. But now the Government wants to exact revenge for his destruction of their simulation...
Relationships: Matt Bellamy/Dom Howard
Series: The Simulation Saga [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514003
Comments: 12
Kudos: 6





	1. ONE: UNLEASH A MILLION DRONES

It’s been two months since Matt escaped the simulation.

Well, since he was pushed from there. Leaving him to wander the real world with a thousand burning questions and no answers to extinguish them. At least in that time he’s been able to think, to mull over his memories of the simulation and make some sense of them - even if they still feel senseless to him. In the first week after his return he had struggled to get his head around even the most basic of things, as if the simulation had taken something from him when he had left. At least time was different in the simulation, and although he counted the passing of at least a week while he was there, from the endless fading of the sky, he awoke in this world - the real world - only hours after he left. 

No one knows about it other than Matt, and he’s happy to keep it that way. Telling his workmates about it will make them think he’s mad, won’t it? 

Still, in those months between then and now he’s stayed as far away from his laptop as possible, and only used his phone when he  _ really  _ needs to. When his mates asks why he always tells them the same thing:  _ ‘I’m taking a digital detox’. _

But he can’t avoid his laptop forever, especially when his boss at the music shop complained that he wasn’t responding to his emails. So, after two months of no usage, the laptop flares into life slowly, chugging through the backlog of updates as Matt spoons mouthfuls of strawberry yogurt into his mouth. Sitting cross legged on the bed, Matt watches with tired eyes as the laptop - sluggish with disuse - finally logs on, nearly crashing when the email notifications pour through in a multitude of beeps. After finishing the final spoonful of yogurt, Matt sets the pot and spoon on his bedside table, mentally promising himself to take them to the kitchen later, and shuffles closer to the laptop. When he reaches to touch the mousepad he hesitates, praying that touching it wont send him into another simulation. 

His fears, however, do not come to fruition.

Bored, he flicks through the endless emails, reading through notices of events that have already happened, and information of orders that have already been sent out. He would never have thought that reading emails would take so long, but the next time he looks at the clock it’s at least 11pm. Eyes blurred with fatigue, he logs out of his emails and goes to close his laptop, only to find the screen blank, and unresponsive.

Glaring at it, he stabs at the keyboard a few times, as if doing that will miraculously fix it. To his utter shock and surprise, it doesn’t, and the laptop beeps once more before the screen goes completely black. At that, Matt lets out a swear, and collapses back on his bed, with a huff.

“Shitty laptop,” he grumbles, glaring at the blank screen, which flashes white once before switching back to black.

As he watches, a cursor appears on the screen, it’s thin, green line stark against the void behind it. Then, to his horror, green words begin to appear, typed one by one in quick succession:  **I AM ALIVE**

Frozen, Matt stares at the words until their sickly green colour is burnt into his mind. His breaths come in short puffs as his mind scrambles to work out what is happening. This must be a virus - it  _ has  _ to be a virus.

Yeah. It’ll just be some kid fucking with him, probably a spotty teen sat in his mum’s basement, giggling away to himself as he hacks someone else’s computer.

That must be it.

Matt blinks, trying to wipe the interfering thoughts away, and when he opens his eyes again, the words are gone, and his laptop is off. Dead.

Gingerly, he reaches forward to close the laptop, wincing as the screen falls down with a slam. After placing the laptop on his desk, out of sight so he doesn’t have to look at the damn thing, Matt crawls back into bed, switching off the bedside lamp and shucking off his shirt in the process. Despite the laptop mishap, sleep comes easily for him, and within minutes he’s snoring away, his sleep undisturbed and peaceful for now.

Matt doesn’t dream anymore. Before entering the simulation he would have infrequent dreams - usually about surreal things like his pasta coming alive and escaping from the pan while the water screams, or even that time he dreamt his piano could talk. But after then...he only has nightmares. Always the same one, over and over.

His body is numb, and those simple things like his heartbeat and the thrum of blood through his veins - the things that make him human - are not there. Instead he feels the static snap of wires against his wrists, rooting him to the spot as dark shadows flicker in the distance. As always, those shadows form a shape, a humanoid shape. Then they take on colours, until the shadow is unmistakably Dom. He looms for a moment, seemingly bigger than he ever has been, then he approaches on silent feet, his smile kind, but his eyes are blank. One hand reaches up to clasp Matt’s chin, the skin of Dom’s sharp fingers as cold as ice as they dig into his skin. His eyes are dark as he closes in, and the wires tighten around Matt’s limbs, stopping him from pulling away as those dead lips press against him. Unlike that first kiss they shared in the simulation, this one is forceful, harsh, cold. As if Dom is truly being the robot he was.

It’s always like this. He screams, he tries to escape, then he screams some more. Then he wakes up.

Cracking open his eyes, Matt shuffles to untangle himself from the sheets, freezing when he hears a clatter. Luckily, he realises it’s only the abandoned yoghurt pot tumbling from his bedside table; some of the leftover yoghurt spills out and splashes on his carpet, leaving a pale stain in the grey fluff. Shivering, he presses a hand to his lips, trying to wipe away the memory of the kiss, even if he knows it wasn't real, that it was only a dream. Ha, the entire simulation could have been a dream too. But..well, it all felt too real, it all lasted too long to simply be a dream, and after the mishap with his laptop - Matt’s not entirely sure what to think. Groaning to himself, Matt makes another mental promise to clean it up in the morning, and turns over to go back to sleep, silently praying that the nightmare doesn’t return again.

His eyes have just sealed themselves shut, his body slipping into a deep, unyielding sleep, when he hears it: the unmistakable noise of his flat door opening. His door has always creaked, and although whoever is entering tries to do so silently, the telltale squeak of the door rouses Matt. Frozen with fear, he curls tightly into his duvet, praying that whatever thief has wandered into his flat will think he’s asleep and won’t hurt him. He’s read far too many stories of people trying to be heroes, getting up in the dead of night to fend off the thieves, only to fall foul to their batons and knives.

He has no wish to join them.

Steadying his breathing, Matt listens out for more noises, and eventually makes out a set of footsteps, then another, and another, and another.

_ There’s four of them. _

Although he tries to stop it, a shiver of fear jolts through his body, amplifying when he hears his bedroom door push open, the sound of it scraping against the carpet washing over him in a blanket of fear. Despite being terrified, Matt manages to clear his head a little, and keeps as still as possible, listening out for any more noises. He feels, rather than hears, the intruders surround his bed, two on either side of him, and for a moment he wonders if he’s still stuck in the nightmare, and that these noises are only a figment of his imagination.

But the fear is real. And so is cold hand on his shoulder, shaking him to wake him up. It’s all Matt can do to open his eyes and squint through the darkness, where there’s a _fucking_ _soldier_ staring down at him.

“Mr Bellamy, can you come with us, please,” the soldier asks, and although it’s phrased as a question, it’s clear from his tone that Matt will have no choice in the matter.

When he makes no move, the soldier asks again, to which Matt merely shakes his head.

“N-no,” he stammers, “No! Why would I? You break into my house in the middle of the night and expect me to come with you? I don’t even know who you are.”

The soldier glances at his comrades, his face mostly hidden by the dark mask covering his features, and grips Matt’s shoulder a little harder. By now, another soldier has switched the light on, it’s harsh glare making it even harder for the groggy eyed Matt to see who is around him.

“Sir, I know this is an odd and frightening situation, but it is important that you come with us,” he clarifies, tugging Matt up into a sitting position, “If you come of your own accord it will make this much easier for you and me.”

“But who are you?” Matt hisses, shrugging the hand off his shoulder, only for another pair of hands to grip him from the other side of the bed, “Get off!”

“Calm down,” the soldier orders, “Whether you come of your own will or we have to knock you out and drag you there I don’t care. My job is to take you back with me,”

“Back to where?” Matt asks, panic overtaking fear now as he stumbles out of bed under the command of the hands, “I don’t know who you are, I don’t know what I’ve done, let me go!”

As he struggles to escape from their grasp, Matt falls directly into another soldier, and immediately feels their hands clasp him and force him to the floor. Face down on the floor, Matt squirms under their grip as they mutter amongst themselves, eventually, he’s able to move his face to the side, his eyes focusing on the abandoned yogurt pot, and the black boot beyond.

For a moment he goes limp, hoping for them to loosen their grip, but the soldier on top of him expects the trick, and merely tightens his grasp, and places a foot into the small of Matt’s back. He lets out a yelp of pain then, and wriggles around even more, only for the masked face of a soldier to appear between him and the yogurt pot.

“We could’ve avoided this if you had just done as asked,” the soldier sighs, bringing a cloth of something sweet smelling to Matt’s face.

Although he tries not to breathe it in, the need for air gets the better of him, and Matt has no choice but to gulp down the sweet air, already feeling woozy as the cloth is peeled away. All at once the weight holding him down disappears, and his body feels weightless as he lies face down on his bedroom floor, eyes drooping as they stare blankly at the yogurt pot once more. With one last, groggy blink, Matt succumbs to the sleep drug, and collapses once more into a deep sleep. His body unable to resist the drug, and his mind unable to let him fight off the soldiers, as they bundle him out of the flat, down the stairs, and into the windowless, black van awaiting them outside.


	2. TWO: HELP ME I'VE FALLEN ON THE INSIDE

Grumbling something unintelligible, Matt’s eyes crack open one by one, snapping shut instantly as they are met with the harsh glare of fluorescent lights. His hand flies up to cover his face as he squirms on the bed, his mind cloudy - was he drinking last night?

All of a sudden, the memories of last night, of being knocked out and taken from his own home by soldiers wearing black, come rushing back to the forefront of his mind, sending a jolt of ice through his veins. Tentatively, he peeks through the gap in his fingers, inspecting the clinical room he has found himself in. There’s two figures by the door, both blank faced guards wearing black uniforms. They watch him with empty eyes, their faces familiar to Matt yet not all at once - wait, that’s Chris, the policeman from the simulation. With a start, Matt sits up, staring at the man. 

He watched him die in a contorted mess as the simulation destroyed itself, how is he here. Barely able to take his eyes off the tall man, Matt frowns, then moves onto the next guard, the shorter one who stands on the other side of the door. Those green eyes are blank, the blonde hair atop his head perfectly groomed, and his stance robotic.

Unable to help it, Matt lets out a swear as the numbness overcomes his body once more.

It’s Dom. 

Dom is alive and breathing and  _ here _ . But he’s not here, not really, no, his eyes are too distant and blank to be real, and Matt left him to die in the simulation - he knows it can’t be Dom. Evenso, he can’t help it when he chokes out a single syllable at the guard.

“Dom?” he tries, his voice cracking, “Dom is it you?”

Both guards remain unmoving, their faces blank, as if they can’t hear Matt’s pleading words.

“Dom please, it’s me, it’s Matt, you remember?” he tries again, this time receiving a small flicker of the guard’s eyes. They move to him for what can only be a fraction of a second, before they return to being blank. Dead.

Choking back a cry, Matt shuffled back against the wall, drawing his knees up to his chest as he succumbs to the crushing weight of fear that coils inside him. He’s living a nightmare, he has to be. His cries come out in a wail, one wracked with pain and fear, one that could fracture even the steeliest of hearts. But still, the guards remain motionless.

He’s not sure how long he remains like that, but he knows he must drift off to sleep at some point, because when he opens his eyes again, Dom and Chris are gone, replaced instead by a metal trolley, with what looks to be a plate of food covered by the dome to keep it warm, and a dark haired man, who sits at the end of Matt’s bed with an apologetic look on his face.

“Hey there,” he whispers, as if afraid to shatter Matt by speaking too loud.

Swallowing thickly, Matt shies away from the man, unsure if he’s there to help or hurt him.

Maybe...maybe this place is a sanitarium. A mad house. Yeah, maybe his neighbours and coworkers got sick of his eccentrics and arranged for him to be sent to one - and Dom and Chris were merely fragments of his imagination, and this man sat here is a doctor who’s going to help him.

Is he mad?

“You’re Matt, yeah?” the man keeps his distance, his white uniform reminding Matt of what doctors usually wear, “I’m Tom,”

Ignoring that, Matt cuddles into his legs for a little longer, unable to meet the man’s eyes.

“Where am I?” he asks, “Is this a...a hospital?”

The man - Tom - smiles, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he shakes his head.

“No,” he says, “Don’t worry, you’re not in a hospital. You’re in a government facility, just west of the town you live in,”

_Don’t_ _worry_. Usually, a phrase like that is followed with something nice to stop the worrier worrying, not the news that one’s in a government facility, whatever that’s supposed to mean.

“Why?” he asks, not entirely sure if he wants to know the truth.

“Don’t you want to eat something first? I brought you some food.” Tom nods at the trolley by the door, “You must be hungry, you’ve had a stressful few hours.”

Scrunching his nose up, Matt glares at the metal trolley, and shakes his head.

“Not hungry,” he mumbles, “I don’t want food, I want answers,”

At that, Tom can’t help but chuckle a little.

“Fine then, I’ll tell you what you need to know.” Tom shuffles a little closer, aware that Matt only shuffles away when he does so, “You are aware that you entered a simulated world a few months ago, yes?”

Hesitating, Matt nods.

“There’s no need to be worried, you’re not in trouble,” Tom continues, “You escaped from that simulation, didn’t you? Though you had to destroy it to do so,”

“Yes,” Matt answers, his voice suddenly raw as the memories of those final moments flood back to him.

“Did you know that world - that simulation - was created by the government, for us to use in our training programmes?”

Freezing, Matt shakes his head vigorously - is that what they want him for? Destroying expensive government property?

“Ah...that explains your confusion. Matthew, you destroyed something very vital to our current project, and you now know a lot of our secrets,” Tom continues, his tone turning darker with every word, “I’m sure you can understand that we can’t let information about Project Algorithm get out into the public domain, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” Matt hums, “I’ve not told anyone about it.”

“I know you haven’t. We’ve been watching you for a while, Matthew,” Tom explains, pausing to let the news sink in, “And we were going to let you go, until that message appeared on your laptop, do you recall it?”

_ I am Alive. _

Of course he does, how could he forget something so unexpected and weird. Matt tells him such, earning a nod from Tom in return.

“When you destroyed that simulation you took something from it, Matthew,” Tom continues, “And I’m not just talking about your memories.”

“Then what?” Matt asks, unable to hide the waver in his voice.

“That’s what I’m here to find out,” his reply comes, the animosity of his tone making Matt freeze for a moment, his mind already flashing with images of mind control and manipulation...is that what they’re going to do to him?

Matt’s face must show his thoughts, because Tom is instantly leaning forward, one hand placed close to him in what he believes to be a comforting gesture, but it only makes the smaller man curl into himself more, trying to hide the sudden, fearful shakes that rattle his body.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” he breathes, voice shaking with the prerequisite to tears, “I never tried to be in the simulation...it just happened I promise!”

With sorry eyes, Tom shakes his head at Matt, knowing that the smaller man will most likely be saying whatever he can to get himself out of this situation. Unfortunately, Tom isn’t the one who can listen to those pleas - no, those who have the power are on the other side of the wall, watching the interaction through smooth computer screens. It is up to them to listen, but Tom knows as well as anyone that they won’t.

“Calm down, you won’t do yourself any good by getting all worked up,” he replies, eventually, rising up from the bed to give Matt some room, “Listen, I’ll leave the food here in case you get hungry later.”

Freezing, Matt looks up at the man, his eyes glimmering with reflections off the lights overhead. He doesn’t say anything, and instead watches as Tom retreats out of the room. It’s only when he’s reached the door that Matt clears his throat, and speaks.

“The men that were here when I woke up before...they were in the simulation too,” Matt mumbles, “I met them both.”

For a moment, Tom pauses, his eyes flickering to the two way mirror concealed in the wall behind Matt’s bed, where no doubt the people in charge of all this watch.

“I know.” Tom smiles briefly, “I put them there.”

“They told me they were robots, but now they’re here and they’re real- unless they really are robots…” Matt muses to himself, not entirely sure if he wants an explanation from Tom, who simply nudges the metal trolley towards Matt’s bed.

“We saw you through our monitoring of Christopher’s mind, unfortunately Dominic had found a way to break free from our...our  _ supervision _ .” Tom doesn’t mean to say supervision, not really, both he and Matt know what he should have said:  _ mind control. _

“But they’re under control now,” Tom clarifies, answering Matt’s unspoken question, “Go on, you need to eat.”

With that, Tom slips out of the room, leaving Matt alone with the metal trolley.

Sighing at his isolation, Matt runs a hand through his hair, which hangs limp with grease. He could really do with a shower, but he’s not entirely sure where he should go for it since, well, he’s stuck in a box room with only one door. As he ponders over his appearance--which must be scruffy and bedraggled by now--his stomach begins to grumble loudly, reminding him that it’s been a long while since he last ate, and he eventually sits up, using his foot to pull the trolley closer to himself. Unsure of what to expect, he lifts up the metal dome to find a cheese sandwich and a glass of water sat beneath.

“Ah, I see this establishment doesn’t hold back on it’s luxuries.” he hums to himself, picking up the sandwich to inspect it.

It’s plain white bread, with grated cheese inside. Most of the cheese falls out onto the plate when he picks the sandwich up, leaving a sad pile of room temperature cheese on the metal disc. There’s no butter on the bread, as Matt discovers when he takes a bite into the disappointment of a sandwich and nearly chokes on it’s dryness. Spluttering, he drops the sandwich back onto the plate and grabs the glass of water, gulping the whole thing down in a few seconds while he glares at the door on the far side of the room.

Eventually, he gives up on being picky, and soon find himself simply eating the sandwich, his glare dimmed somewhat. Once finished, he sits there for a moment, legs dangling over the edge of the bed, before he kicks the trolley away from him, watching with some semblance of amusement as it crashes straight into the opposite wall.

They’re probably watching him, he can feel their electric eyes on him. He wonders what they’re thinking.

Soon, the boredom takes over again, and Matt finds himself pacing back and forth in his room, his bare feet slapping on the white tiles as he walks his never ending circle.

“Hey Matt, it’s me again.” Tom peeks around the door as he pushes it open ever so slightly, making the small man stop in his tracks. Like before, Matt doesn’t reply, and stays silent as the white coated man edges further into the room.

“You must be bored in here.”

“No, walking around in circles is my hobby.” 

“Haha very funny,” Tom laughs, “We have a nice garden on the roof, you can go up there if you want.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but I’ll have to accompany you, and there’ll be someone else out there as well.” He doesn’t say anything more, but Matt knows exactly what words would come after those. _To_ _make_ _sure_ _Matt_ _doesn’t_ _escape_.

“Okay, that’s okay,” Matt confirms, knowing full well it isn’t, that being guarded and escorted like some criminal isn’t okay at all.

“I’ll give you time to shower first, and you’ll have to wear the clothes we give you. Just so we can identify who you are when you’re outside.” Tom nods, pushing the door open to reveal another, harshly illuminated room to Matt. It’s a sitting room of sorts, with two doors--one fully closed, what Matt expects leads to the corridor outside, and another left slightly ajar, giving Matt a view of a clean, smooth bathroom.

Curious, Matt follows Tom into the room, and stares as the plain white furniture.

“Just leave your clothes outside the bathroom door, there’s towels and things in the shower,” Tom explains, “Take all the time you need, I know this is all strange, but having a shower will clear your head a little.”

Nodding, Matt walks the short way to the bathroom, and waits until he hears the other door click, telling him that Tom has left, before he peels off his shirt. Once undressed, Matt steps into the shower cubicle, wincing as the cold tiles meet his bare feet, and presses the button on the wall. Within seconds a steady stream of warm water is pouring down on him. If he closes his eyes and concentrates hard enough, he could almost be in his own shower, in his own flat. He could almost be safe and secure.

But he’s not, he’s stuck in whichever government institute this is, pretending to be okay when all he wants to do is cry. Then, as the steam of the shower rises around him, Matt feels the sting of tears appear in the corners of his eyes. Eventually, their weight becomes too much, and under the comfort of the shower water, Matt succumbs to his tears once more, letting them flow freely down his face to mingle with the water.


	3. THREE: OPPRESSION IS PERSISTING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 3 - someone make me write more

Standing by the door of his rooms, Matt frowns at the grey cotton of his uniform. He doesn’t want to call it that, but there’s no other word he can use to describe the dark cotton smock.  It’s a uniform.  At least the material is soft against his skin, and the soft soled slippers keep his feet warm. Still, when the door slides open, Matt can’t help but feel a little self conscious in the plain clothes, even if Tom wears a similarly blank uniform.

“You ready?” Tom asks, moving aside to let Matt through the door.

The smaller man merely nods, pausing with numbness once he sees who will be accompanying them to the garden: Chris and Dom.

Shooting a glance towards Tom, Matt refuses to budge, his eyes instead focussed solely on the blank, unseeing face of Dom.

“Do they have to be there?” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the buzz of the overhead lights.

“Yes.”

“Does it have to be  _ them _ ?” Matt can’t help but keep the bite out of his tone, feeling as if some cruel creator somewhere is watching him and laughing. Of course they send Dom to guard him. Dom, the man he tried to escape with, the man who he kissed reverently beneath a starless sky in a godless land. The man who is now his jailer.

“Yes.” Tom repeats, shooting a sly glance towards the security camera in the far corner.

To tell the truth, he isn’t sure of the answer. There may well be the possibility of receiving a different set of guards, but something tells Tom that the ones in charge don’t want to be kind.

They’d rather torture Matt with memories of his mistakes than give him clearence to forget.

Blinking slowly, Matt nods and looks back to his feet, and waits for Tom to lead him to the gardens.

At least the walk there is only short, through only a few, white painted corridors, until they reach a set of pristine, glass doors. They push open seamlessly, letting Matt through with his vanguard before he can even adjust to the sudden burst of sunlight. Stopping, Matt glances up at the sky, watching as a single cloud rolls across the unmarked, blue canvas. It crosses over the sun, causing a momentary shadow to pass across his face, then it’s bright again, the harsh light almost blinding him as he glances back down. The roof garden is pretty, if not a little too perfect and ordered, with trees and vines artfully places to block out the sight of the wall surrounding it. There is no way for him to see the outside world, save from the patch of bright sky above him.

“Come on Matt, there’s some benches over here if you want to sit down.” Tom wanders over to the aforementioned bench and sits down.

Chris and Dom linger at the doorway, no doubt to block anyone else from entering the garden, or to stop Matt trying to leave. Seeing this, Matt can’t help but feel his shoulders slump a little at the roboticism of their actions. As he sits down, on the opposite end of the bench to Tom, he watches as a single butterfly, it’s white wings nearly snapping beneath even the faintest of breezes as it flutters pasts Matt’s face to come and rest on the flowers at the side of the bench.

Their petals are a faint purple colour, so faint that he almost can’t tell the difference between the butterfly and the flower itself. 

“It’s a white cabbage that,” Tom mutters, looking over Matt’s shoulder to watch the butterfly.

“I thought it was a butterfly.” Matt frowns, eyes going back to that delicate little creature.

“Yeah, a white cabbage butterfly.” Tom chuckles, not entirely sure if the man was joking or not.

“Oh.” 

From this close, Matt can see the pollen stick to the butterfly’s legs, and even it’s little tongue come out to lick it off. As we watch, he finds himself almost smiling and the pure delicacy of the creature, that doesn’t seem to realise that the garden it plays in is merely a pretty facade for the blank corridors beneath. Almost too soon for his liking, Matt jumps back as a sudden gust of wind rips through the garden, knocking the butterfly off its perch.

For a moment, he’s lost the little white thing, but when he glances up to the sky again he sees it, fluttering away into the world beyond. It hits Matt then, that that damn butterfly has more freedom than him right now.

“Is there anything to do out here, other than sit and watch bugs all day?” Matt asks, not even bothering to look at the other man.

“There is a sand garden around the other side but I think someone is using that at the moment,” Tom replies, nearly jumping when Matt’s gaze snaps to him.

“Someone.” he struggles out, “You mean you're keeping others here, like me?”

Tom freezes, if only for a second, but it’s enough to give Matt the answer he wanted. Rising up from the bench, Matt starts to job across the garden, not caring for the delicate flowers he tramples as he goes.

“Where are they, I want to speak to them?” he calls out, making it halfway across the garden before he hears another shout.

“Matt- get back here! Now!” he orders. But his words fall on deaf ears as Matt slips past the outstretched arm of Dom, and races around the corner.

“This won’t end well Matt! You need to get back here,” Tom yells again, followed by a few more muffled words, no doubt orders intended for Chris and Dom.

But it’s too late, and Matt has already come to a stop around the corner, a few meters away from the trough of the sand garden. Barefooted, and wearing similar clothes to Matt, a woman pauses in her action, the rake held in her hand poised over the sand as she blinks at him. Her blonde hair is tied back neatly out of her face, leaving those big, green eyes the only decoration on her.

She moves her mouth, as if to speak, but no words come out. Instead, her posse of guards march over to Matt, their unmasked faces as blank and bored as Dom’s as they close in on him. Before they reach him, however, Matt feels a pair of stern hands on his shoulders, pulling him back to his own section of the garden. Without thinking he struggles against their grip, half his mind screaming at him to break free while the other chastises him for riling up his guards.

Sure enough, as Matt predicts, the hands that tug at him slam him to the ground, and through the tears lining his eyes he can just about see the blonde woman being escorted back inside.

“Come back,” he cries, his voice pitifully weak with the weight of Dom on top of him.

As he struggles to wriggle free, he spots Chris approaching over the shoulder of his captor, holding something in his hands. It takes a moment for Matt’s eyes to focus enough to realise that the object that Chris is holding is a syringe, needle sharp and ready to find his flesh. All at once his fears flood through him, and he increased his escape attempt tenfold, only for Dom to dig his knee into Matt’s back, pinning him to the concrete.

“No! Let me go!” he wiggles, the tears falling freely now, “Don’t put that thing near me!”

There’s a pause, and another muffled order, before the weight on Matt is lifted off. With a yelp, Matt quickly shuffles away from the gathering of guards around him, and doesn’t stop until his back smacks against the wall at the edge of the roof, where he curls up into a small ball once more, his knees pressed uncomfortably into his chest, and his face buried into those.

From outside his cocoon, there’s silence, before he hears footsteps come closer, and the distinct noise of someone sitting down next to him.

“Matt, look at me.” a voice orders.  _ Tom _ .

For a second, Matt hesitates, not sure if he wants to face the blank faced guards again.

“Come on Matt, you’re not in trouble.”

For a moment, a thought passes his mind. He’s being spoken to as if he’s a child. He’s being spoken to as if he no longer has the mind to control himself, to think for himself. When Matt eventually looks up, he sees Tom smiling at him from where he sits at his side. But it’s not a nice smile, no. Again, it’s the sort of smile that would be given to a child that is about to overstep the boundaries.

“I need you to understand something, Matt,” Tom begins, “If you are to continue coming out here, and having the freedom to be up here, you have to do as told.”

Matt merely blinks.

“You can’t go running away, you might disturb someone else, as you did here.”

“Who is she?” Matt asks, releasing his grip on his legs.

Now it’s Tom’s turn to blink.

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Hmph fine,” Matt frowns, “It’s just, it’d be nice to find a friend. Since you made my last one-”

At that, Matt cuts himself off, fully aware of Dom standing not a few meters away. He dares shoot a glance that way, and for a split second, their eyes meet. But Matt doesn’t find  _ nothing _ behind those green eyes, no, instead he sees a flash of humanity in there, a flash of the man he remembers. A flash of  _ Dom _ .

But then it’s gone, and Dom has that horrible, empty look in his eyes again, which stare off into nothingness, as if Matt is not sat right there on the floor. When he looks back to Tom, he finds the white coated man squinting at Dom a little.

Did he see it too?

In the silence, Matt finds the time to look towards Chris, who - for a moment - is looking at Dom too, until he feels Matt’s eyes on him. Then that blank look returns to his face too. The sight of both of the guards without those empty faces, even if just for a second, has Matt thinking.

What if their mind control does not work? What if Dom is merely acting to avoid the torture of the government programmes?

What if he’s waiting until he can grab Matt and escape?

With that thought burnt into his mind, Matt struggles to peel his eyes off his friend as he turns back to Tom.

“I’d like to go back inside now, please,” he requests, and the doctor merely looks at him.

“Of course.” Tom helps Matt up, then steers him through the same doors the woman was escorted through earlier.

This time, his guards remind behind, and Matt has to crane his neck to look at them once more. As the glass doors slide shut on him, he can see Dom staring at him, a hint of a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.


End file.
